1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clot. I would, this mufick would come: I am advis'd to give her mufick o'mornings; they fay, it will penetrate.

Enter Muficians.

Come on, tune; if you can penetrate her with your fingering, fo; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful fweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her confider.

SONG.

Hark, bark! the lark at heav'n's gate fings,
And Phoebus 'gins arife,

3 His feeds to water at thofe fprings
On chalic'd flowers that lyes:
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;

With every thing (a) that pretty bin,
My lady fweet, arise:
Arife, arife.

So, get you gone- -if this penetrate, I will confider your mufick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horfe-hairs, and cats'-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend.

up

[Exeunt Muficians.

Enter Queen and Cymbeline.

2 Lord. Here comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the reason

3 His feeds to water at thofe fprings

On chalic'd flowers that lyes:] i. e. the morning fun dries the dew which lies in the cups of flowers.

[(a) that pretty bin. Oxford Editor.Vulg. that pretty is.]

I was up fo early: he cannot chufe but take this fervice I have done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Ma jefty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our ftern daughter? Will the not forth?

Clot. I have affail'd her with muficks, but she vouchfafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him: fome more time
Muft wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then fhe's yours.

Queen. You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly follicits; and be friended
With aptness of the feafon; make denials
Encrease your services; fo feem, as if
You were infpir'd to do those duties, which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your difmiffion tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clot. Senfelefs? not fo.

Enter a Mellenger.

Mef. So like you, Sir, Ambassadors from Rome;

The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym. A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his fender;

And towards himself, his goodness fore-fpent on us,
We must extend our notice :- -Our dear fon,

When you have giv'n good morning to your mistress,

4

bis goodness fore-fpent on us,] i. e. the good offices done by him to us heretofore.

Attend

Attend the Queen and us; we fhall have need
T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our

Queen.

SCENE

IV.

[Exeunt.

Clot. If fhe be up, I'll fpeak with her; if not, Let her lye ftill, and dream. By your leave, ho! [Knocks.

I know, her women are about her what,
If I do line one of their hands?'tis gold,
Which buys admittance, (oft it doth,) yea, makes
Diana's rangers falfe themfelves, yield up

Their deer to th' ftand o'th' stealer: and 'tis gold,
Which makes the true man kill'd, and faves the thief;
Nay, fometimes, hangs both thief and true-man: what
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the cafe myself.
By your leave.-——————

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

Clot: A Gentleman.

Lady. No more?

Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon.

Lady. That's more

Than fome, whofe tailors are as dear as yours,

[Knocks.

Can juftly boaft of; what's your lordship's pleasure? Clot. Your lady's perfon; is fhe ready?

Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber.

Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good report.

5 If the be up, &c.] It is obfervable, that Shakespear makes his fools deal much in that kind of wit called the double entendre with only a fingle meaning; fince his time transferred to the fine Gentleman of the drama.

Lady,

Lady. How, my good name? or to report of you What I fhall think is good? The Princess

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good morrow, fairest: fifter, your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains

For purchafing but trouble; the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.

Clot. Still, I fwear, I love you.

Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is still

That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not fay I yield, being filent, I would not speak. I pray you, fpare me-faith, I fhall unfold equal difcourtefie

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn (being tort) forbearance.

6

one of your great knowing

Should learn (being TAUGHT) forbearance.] But fure, whoever is taught, neceffarily learns. Learning is not the fit and reasonable confequence of being taught, but is the thing itself. As it is fuperfluous in the expreffion, fo (which is the common condition of nonfenfe) it is deficient in the fentiment. It is no mark of a knowing perfon that he has learnt forbearance fimply. For forbearance becomes a virtue, or point of civil prudence, only as it refpects a forbidden object. Shakespear, I am perfuaded, wrote,

one of your great knowing

Should learn (being TORT) forbearance.

i. e. one of your wisdom should learn (from a sense of your purfuing a forbidden object) forbearance: which gives us a good and pertinent meaning in a correct expreffion. Tort, an old French word, fignifying the being in the wrong, is much in use amongst our old English writers, which thofe who have not read them, may collect from its being found in the Etymologicon of the judicious Skinner.

Clot

Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin I will not.

Imo. Fools cure not mad folks.

Clot. Do you call me fool?

Ima. As I am mad, I do:

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ;
That cures us both. I am much forry, Sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners
By being so verbal and learn now for all,
That I, who know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you:
And am fo near the lack of charity

T' accuse my felf, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make my boaft.

Clot. You fin against

Obedience, which you owe your father; for
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and fofter'd with cold dishes,
With fcraps o'th' court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,

7 To leave you in your Madness, 'twere my Sin ;

I will not.

Imo. Fools ARE not mad folks.

Clot. Do vou call me fool?

Imo. As I am mad, I do ] But does the really call him fool? The acutest citic would be puzzled to find it out, as the text ftands. The reafoning is perplex'd by a flight corruption; and we must reitore it thus,

Fools CURE not mad folks.

You are mad, fays he, and it would be a crime in me to leave you to yourself. Nay, fays fhe, why fhould you ftay? A fool never cur'd madness. Do you call me fool? replies he, &c. All this is easy and natural And that cure was certainly the poet's word, I think, is very evident from what Imogen immediately fubjoins.

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;

That cures us both.

i. e. if you'll ceafe to torture me with your foolish folicitations, I'll cease to fhew towards you any thing like madness: fo a double cure will be effected, of your folly, and my fuppos'd frenzy.

(Yet